Dawn
by Arcole
Summary: COMPLETE. Sequel to Damage. After the turmoil of Idalia's Flute has worn off, can Artemis Entreri find himself again? And what of his relationship with Dwahvel? Can a new life hold up when the old life intrudes? T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

Dawn

Disclaimer: I don't own. I just play.

_(AN: This is a sequel to Damage. I'd read it first.)_

Chapter 1

The young man facing Entreri was not unknown to him. He'd been the lookout serving under Captain Jarrol of the merchant ship Bonfire. However, Entreri had not thought to see him again once leaving the docks of Waterdeep, much less to cross blades with him.

The young man eyed him intently, bringing his sword to bear. With a sigh, Entreri prepared to face him down.

Their blades clashed, the young man's youth driving his speed and his willingness to attack. However, Entreri had already found the young man's sword with the silvery blade of his rapier and had started the parry before the boy had even begun his first move.

Entreri deliberately drew him out, baiting him, forcing him to retreat, forcing his steps. Before long the lookout knew he was hopelessly overmatched. He knew that Entreri could kill him easily at any moment. The swordmaster did not relent in his attack, and the boy's arm grew heavy with the effort of desperately trying to keep that flashing blade from his chest.

The boy soon bled from a variety of small cuts; sweat had begun to drip into his eyes. But the man across from him was cool and unshakable.

"No, please, sir," the boy gasped breathlessly. "I can't."

"Can't you?" Entreri sneered back at him. "I thought you wanted to challenge the Underdark? I thought you wanted to be a hero?"

"Please, sir," the boy tried again as that blade flashed at his face, leaving a scratch down his cheek. It took all he had left in him physically to back away, parrying desperately.

"Artemis!" Dwahvel scolded from his right. "You aren't supposed to kill them!"

Entreri stepped away from the young man, threw down his rapier angrily, and walked away as it clattered onto the wooden floor of the warehouse. The boy bent forward, gasping for air, and leaned on his knees to rest.

Out of nowhere Entreri turned and sprang at him, knocking the boy to the floor, his forearm coming to rest across his throat. "Boy, you should have at least taken your advantage when I walked away from you," he snarled. "Will orcs give you a chance to rest? Do you think the duergar will show you mercy? How about the drow?"

The young man looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear, his face pale. "Please, sir, don't kill me," he gasped against the pressure on his airway.

"If you just want to live, be a farmer," Entreri answered him coldly. "Do not take up the sword if you just want to live."

Then Entreri rose effortlessly in one graceful, fluid movement, pulling the young man up by the hand as he went.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered. Then as the master swordsman began to walk away, the young man sheathed his sword and called, "I'll see you tomorrow, sir."

Entreri just waved his hand dismissively without looking back as the boy opened the heavy front door of the warehouse and departed.

"Poor Cullon. He always leaves here bleeding," Dwahvel sighed as she watched the door close. "By the way, Jarrol's sending you another," she added as she walked across the floor to meet the man who was formerly the most dangerous assassin in Calimshan.

"Why?" Entreri asked, his voice icy with disdain. "Why does he continue to send them?" He bent over to pick up the rapier and she could see a momentary weariness in his shoulders.

"I suppose he hopes you'll be able to teach them," she replied evenly. "You said yourself his crew was inept in combat."

She watched as he sheathed the blade with a flash of silver. He rolled his head from side to side and stretched out his shoulders before coming to stand before her. "I am no teacher," he declared sardonically.

"I don't know about that, Artemis," she said, taking his arm and leading him upstairs to the rooms over the warehouse which served as their living quarters. "I thought Cullon was doing much better today."

"Cullon is a good boy," Entrer replied, his tone scathing though his words were mild. "He'd not last a day in the Underdark. A goblin could finish him."

"Then why do you bother?" she asked as she pulled some bread and cheese out of the kitchen cupboard.

Entreri took a seat at the small wooden table and half smiled at her. "To keep you in the manner to which you have become accustomed, my dear," came his sarcastic response.

"Is that why?" she teased, coming to sit in his lap. "In that case, take on a few more students. We need bedroom curtains."

Entreri rose from the table with Dwahvel in his arms and carried her into said bedroom, tossing her unceremoniously onto the bed. He paused only long enough to drop his swordbelt to the floor, the rapier falling with a clatter, then joined her there.

He lay on his side and propped up on his elbow while looking around the bare room. "Why do we need curtains?" he asked. "The windows are set so high you couldn't see out of them if you jumped."

"I want it to be pretty," she declared lightly. "I am accustomed to pretty things, Artemis."

He cupped her cheek in his hand and replied, "You are all the decoration this room needs." Then he kissed her. Her fingers twined themselves in his hair as she returned the kiss passionately.

Unfortunately, their pleasant interlude was cut short by the ringing of the downstairs bell.

"That would be my bedroom curtains," Dwahvel explained with a sigh. "Jarrol did say he'd send him along this afternoon."

"Let him rot," Entreri replied easily, then ran his fingers lightly over the curve of her breast, taking satisfaction in her reaction. The bell rang again. He sighed.

"Try not to hurt this one too badly," Dwahvel instructed sympathetically as he rose from the bed and snatched his swordbelt up from the floor.

"If I don't hurt them, someone else will," Entreri stated, but the bitterness in his voice had eased.

She watched him walk out of the room, then lay back on the mattress to think. Waterdeep was not Calimport. In Calimport, good and evil, law-breaking and law-abiding were so mixed together that it was hard to tell which was which. Many a duly appointed official was also a crime lord and many a crime lord kept the peace in his territory.

Artemis himself had been an agent of law and order on numerous occasions as he dismantled rogue gangs whose activities threatened the smooth operation of society in a pasha's domain.

But in Waterdeep the lines were much more strongly drawn between those who kept the peace and those who broke it. She found it very interesting that her Artemis had come down on the side of peace in Waterdeep.

He'd gone to the docks on the third day of their stay in the city to get the feel of things. Wrapped in his dark cloak, his signature weapons shielded from view, he'd slipped into Dock Ward's taverns and meeting places to learn the power structure of the city—both at large and in the underworld.

He soon learned that it would not have been overly difficult to make himself a place in the thieves guilds. The criminal underworld of Waterdeep was hidden, but not so much so that he could not infiltrate it with ease.

And while there were some very powerful crimelords, Waterdeep was a large city with room for at least one more. With Dwahvel's connections in Calimport, Entreri knew could begin setting up his own empire within a short amount of time, if he were so inclined.

However, during his foray into the ward, he was recognized by members of Captain Jarrol's crew on shore leave. Hailing him as a hero, they insisted on buying him a drink and regaling the bar's patrons with greatly exaggerated tales of his exploits against the pirates.

Before long, Captain Jarrol had been summoned and the meeting had turned businesslike as the good captain renewed his offer of introductions to men of prominence in the city. He had friends in the merchant guilds who were always seeking new swordmasters to train their caravan guards. Before long, Entreri had been enlisted to work with some of Jarrol's men as well, including the hapless young Cullon.

Sweeping them along in a tide of gratitude and camaraderie, Jarrol assisted the couple in finding suitable accommodations in the South Ward both for their lodging and for Entreri's new school for swordsmanship. In a last effort to derail the entire plan, Entreri had even resorted to using his own name, half hoping that someone would recognize it.

However, the good captain and his merry merchant friends had never heard of Artemis Entreri. But Jarrol's recommendation of him was enough to bring in a variety of clients—from individual lessons to group instruction to security consultation for the merchant guilds.

With every job, Entreri's reputation seemed to grow, despite his efforts to keep a low profile.

Now, after several weeks in Waterdeep, work was steady, if disheartening, and invitations to dinner for himself and his "wife" were steady as well.

Dwahvel enjoyed every minute, both of his discomfort and of the chance to socialize. If Artemis's skills lay in swordsmanship, hers most certainly lay in diplomacy and information gathering. She listened to the gossip of the good merchant ladies and learned all she could of the trade routes, the upcoming shipments, the problems on the road, the problems at home.

Before long, she knew enough to have easily shut down the trade route from Waterdeep to Amn using one well-placed raid and an ill-timed visit home by a particular lady's husband.

When she said as much to Artemis, he laughed, but had little inclination to disrupt activity on the trade way for mere sport.

"Then let's do it for profit, Artemis," she'd suggested. But to her surprise, profit was not very high on his list of priorities.

"I spent far too long seeking profit with Jarlaxle," he'd said with a shudder. "It's an empty quest. For every profitable score we made, there were at least two retreats from otherwise comfortable situations. I do not wish to return to the road, and given your love for hot baths and a soft mattress, I don't think you do either."

Dwahvel had to agree. The guildhouse in Calimport had always been a comfortable place, and she was far too much a halfling to let go of the comforts of her current residence for the roughness of the road without convincing reason.

So she'd devoted herself to consolidating their new position as members of Waterdeep's middle class. It was a sort of adventure all its own. She visited the little shops on the streets around them. She spoke to her South Ward neighbors and went to garden parties at the homes of the merchant wives.

She fielded questions about their past and about their future with a mixture of creative retelling of truth and outright lie. In her hands, Artemis was an adventurer and defender of Vaasa, named Apprentice Knight of the Order in Damara for his service to King Gareth Dragonsbane. She could only hope that no one who knew of his eventual banishment made their way to Waterdeep any time soon.

As for her story, she'd been a long time resident of Calimport, affiliated with the merchant guilds until Artemis had returned after a long absence and swept her off her feet, carrying her away to Waterdeep. The ladies sighed and declared him to be very romantic and quite daring. If they only knew, she'd sighed inwardly, but outwardly had agreed most vehemently. And she had to admit, her Artemis was daring to a fault and did indeed have a romantic side that she was only beginning to uncover.

In fact her stories were so inspirational that Dwahvel had caught more than one of the ladies making overtures to him; however, he was either too disinterested, too self-absorbed, or too unsuspecting to notice.

She was glad. It would have shortened their stay and cut into her comfort to have been forced into a confrontation with any of the ladies—likely at daggerpoint if they had designs on her "husband."

She also wondered at that. He introduced her so easily as his wife that it had become comfortable to think of herself as such. The line between reality and pose was becoming so blurred she couldn't tell what was real and what was a clever front to conceal their true intentions.

And just what were his true intentions? Did Artemis truly desire to settle down in Waterdeep and teach swordplay to callow young men? Did he truly wish to marry her and live on a quiet street with pleasant neighbors and quaint shops?

Or was all this some kind of stop-over between adventures? An interlude between acts? A diversion for a while until his real life started again?

And if it was only a pleasant interlude, what would she do when it was over?

The turmoil inside him stirred by Idalia's Flute had settled again to near calm. He no longer walked the edge of instability, and she no longer feared for him in that regard.

But in the wake of the storm, he'd drawn closer to her rather than farther away. She'd grown very used to his presence. She'd grown very fond of his touch in the night. She wanted to be near him, to listen to him, to tease him out of his dark moods, to experience all that was Artemis Entreri.

What would she do if his life went on without her? Could she return to Calimport as if nothing had happened?

Artemis Entreri had come into her life and turned everything upside down. Could she possibly put it back to rights without him?

She went downstairs to the warehouse floor where Artemis mercilessly hounded another young man with a sword. This one bore scratches down both arms and likely a black eye. He was panting in exhaustion while Artemis seemed unstoppable.

"You have one chance to live out there," he was saying in a clear voice as he slashed at the young man. "If you give it away in exhaustion or in carelessness, you are dead. This is not a game, boy. Take advantage of every opening, every chance, or trust me, you will die."

The young man redoubled his efforts, setting his jaw in determination. Dwahvel watched as he nearly slipped inside Artemis's defenses. From her vantage point it looked as though he might have even scored a hit on him.

However, Artemis stepped lightly away from the point of his blade and turned the attack against the young man, driving the point of his rapier to the hollow of his student's throat.

"You are dead, Ballantin," Artemis declared coldly, then sheathed his blade and turned to walk away.

Ballantin, however, sprang forward, his swordpoint coming within an inch of piercing Artemis right between the shoulder blades. Before Dwahvel could even gasp in fear, Artemis had neatly spun away from the attack, turning to grasp the young man's wrist and breaking his grip on his sword. With his free hand, he caught the hilt as it fell.

"Excellent," came Artemis's matter-of-fact word of praise, even as he bent the young man's arm into an uncomfortable twist. "Think like a predator, not like prey." Then he looked the young man coldly in the eye and stated, "But this time, Ballantin, you are dead—or believe me, I will kill you."

Ballantin wisely nodded and said, "Thank you, sir," as Artemis released his wrist and offered him his rapier, which he took with a bow. "This time tomorrow, sir?" he asked as he walked to the door of the warehouse.

Dwahvel watched as Artemis just gave him a dismissive wave and strode back to where she stood on the staircase.

"Am I done for today?" he asked her in a dry voice.

"Only with lessons," she replied. "I wanted to show you a few more things I'd like to have done in the bedroom."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Life in Waterdeep was boring, Artemis decided as he stood in the anteroom outside the office of one of the merchant guildsmen. It was boring and predictable, and a far cry from every other period in his life, especially most recently.

Life with Jarlaxle had been anything but boring. It had been adventuresome and unpredictable. One day he was fighting a lich to the death, the next he was riding a dragon.

May your life always be interesting—the halfling curse went—and looking back over the interesting portions of his life, he had to agree that interesting could indeed be a curse.

Life in Waterdeep was boring, but at the moment he saw that as a reprieve.

For the first time in his life he was his own man in every sense of the word. No pasha commanded his loyalties or directed his activities. Dark elves did not set his schedule. He worked under no other agenda but his own. If he wanted things to be interesting, he would make them so.

But right now, boring suited him.

As he waited for the merchant to meet with him he considered how different it had been to enter into the society of this group.

Before being trusted by one of the many crimelords he'd served in the past, he'd always been expected to perform an act of pointless obedience—he recalled his most recent encounters with the Citadel of Assassins and with House Basadoni. Each had tested his willingness to murder without cause, to obey without question. Only then would they be satisfied that his will was sufficiently bent to their own for him to be of use to them.

He knew the routine well—he'd passed it many times over the years. He'd assigned the same pointless kills to other young men, boys younger than Cullon. He'd revealed himself to be a willing tool in the hands of the crimelords, a weapon without thought, without conscience.

But these people, he sighed, these good merchantmen of Waterdeep were satisfied enough by the recommendation of one good man to offer him a job, and once the job was complete, the quality of the outcome was enough for them to recommend him for another.

He was not used to being judged on his worth more than his willingness. None of them sought to control him for themselves, but instead encouraged their friends to seek him out. None of them questioned his motives or his reasons for what he did, but instead went out of their way to justify their own to him.

The white-whiskered man that stood before him now began to ask him his opinion about security measures along the route to Amn. To ask him what he thought.

Entreri had never been consulted so deferentially by anyone. Certainly the pashas would expect his advice and his counsel, but always with an air of superiority and command that he found annoying at best, infuriating at worst. And they were always so shocked when he left their employment for someone else, each fully convinced that they'd owned him in some way.

But this little man that spoke to him now, his maps spread out across his worktable, this little man knew Entreri did not work for him. He knew that Entreri was doing him a service by helping him improve his security and was willing to pay him handsomely for the service without ever once asking anything more of him than the company of himself and his wife for dinner.

Entreri bemusedly agreed, aware that Dwahvel would enjoy the outing and the chance to enlarge her already incredible circle of acquaintances and that a well-placed word from this little man would only result in another contract for service.

Once the meeting was concluded, Entreri returned to the warehouse to find Dwahvel busily hanging her new bedroom curtains. Lacking a proper ladder, she was standing on tiptoe atop several stacked boxes.

"You're going to fall from there," he chastised her. Startled by his voice, she did indeed slip a little, barely catching herself on the windowframe. "See? What did I tell you?"

"You shouldn't go sneaking up on people, you know," she snapped back at him.

"I did not sneak up on you," he retorted, moving to stand behind her, his arms encircling her hips. He enjoyed the feel of her, enjoyed the way she wriggled as he picked her up.

"Artemis!" she squealed. "I'm not finished hanging these!"

"Finish later," he responded smoothly. "We have a dinner invitation for this evening."

"With whom?" He could hear the note of excitement in her voice.

"With the good merchant Wallingdam and his lovely wife." The usual level of disdain in his voice had abated even more, Dwahvel noted. Soon he'd be able to speak of his clients with something approaching basic courtesy.

He set her on her feet, but atop the trunk that sat at the foot of their bed so that she stood at his eye level.

"Should I dress up for this one?" she asked, running her arms around his neck.

"You can go naked for all I care."

"I don't know why I bother to ask," she sighed. "You always say the same thing."

"And I always mean it."

Then she couldn't help but kiss him. He was too direct. He played no games. She never wondered what he was thinking—he was tactless enough to just say it outright. Sometimes she thought he spoke his mind so freely just because he could, just because he felt he had no reason to hide his thoughts or his intentions from her.

Then his hand went up the skirt of her dress and she stopped thinking.

The intricacies of her clothing was still a mystery to him. Dwahvel always dressed like a lady, not like a harem girl, not like an adventurer. She insisted on wearing layers of fabric, held together with buttons and laces and hooks.

To get to her skin, he had to navigate a sea of delicate linen and handwoven lace. And each time that he was tempted to simply tear the garments free of her body, he was reminded of his own strength in relation to hers. He could not allow his passions to master him lest he hurt her. And he did not wish to hurt her.

He pulled at the laces of her bodice until it came free in his hand, then deftly unhooked her skirt so that it fell to her feet in a little rustle of fabric. She stood before him, clad only in a diaphanous underslip that revealed the sensuous curves of her body and the narrowness of her waist.

He sighed and decided what she lacked in height she more than made up for in voluptuousness. It wrong of her to keep herself hidden away from him under all those clothes.

"Yes, by all means go naked," he repeated.

Evening found them at the front door of one of the South Ward's nicest residences. "You are moving up in clientèle, aren't you?" Dwahvel commented appreciatively. "Imagine the reward for the one clever enough to burgle this place one night."

"Shame on you, my dear," came the sly comment from her tall companion. "We are guests."

As they entered the front hall, Entreri could indeed see a few treasures he would once have been happy to lift from their displays. But even then, he'd have never taken them for himself, but only to swell the coffers of a fat pasha or an ever-acquisitive dark elf. He decided that those treasures were placed just as properly in Wallingdam's front hall as Pasha Pook's treasure room or Jarlaxle Baenre's bag of holding.

Wallingdam's lady was just as little and old as he was and spent the entire meal making pointless conversation in Entreri's opinion.

She and Dwahvel traded shopping tips and current city gossip, as well as admiring each other's jewelry.

"Oh, Mistress Wallingdam, your brooch is just beautiful," Dwahvel gushed as she fingered a unique jeweled piece pinned to the lady's collar.

"Do you think so?" Wallingdam's lady replied in gratification.

Entreri forced himself not to roll his eyes, glad that Dwahvel was so good at this type of social engineering since he lacked even the most basic skills in tact and negotiation.

Even so, he politely turned his attention back to Wallingdam's recitation of the many items he had ready for shipment in his next caravan. The old merchant apparently trusted him completely, based off nothing but the word of a few friends and an initial consultation.

Why this trust? Entreri wondered. How had he earned the power to destroy the old man's operations? If he'd been seeking to infiltrate this group of people in order to destroy them, he wouldn't have had any more success any faster.

Entreri had to admit that so far he'd led no one astray, had neither cheated nor misguided any of his clients. He'd looked at their operations and told them bluntly where lay their weaknesses and their strengths. He'd simply been honest with them. Was that all it took to gain admittance in this world?

As they took a turn through the merchant's gardens after dinner, he overheard Dwahvel regaling Mistress Wallingdam with stories of his exploits. She told of his actions against the pirates with a great deal of enthusiasm, then not so casually mentioned the matter of his knighthood in Damara.

"Mistress Wallingdam would not be interested in such tales, my dear," he intervened.

"No, Mr. Entreri," the old lady replied eagerly, "I find your adventures very exciting."

"Nevertheless, I must beg my wife's company for a moment," Entreri said with a polite bow as he led Dwahvel off to the side.

"What are you doing?" he asked sharply. "I am no knight of Damara."

"Of course you are," Dwahvel replied sweetly. "At least until word of your banishment comes to Waterdeep. And I don't see that happening any time soon."

"Still there is no reason to bring it up," Entreri responded.

"You wish to build a front of respectability," Dwahvel reasoned. "I'm just trying to help you." Then he looked down at her hands where she idly turned Mistress Wallingdam's brooch over in her fingers.

"You lifted the brooch," he observed coolly.

"Right off her during dinner." Then at Entreri's accusatory look, she retorted, "I like pretty things, Artemis." At his continued glare, she snapped, "And since when has Artemis Entreri, housebreaker extraordinaire, been averse to a bit of casual thievery? Or to a creative retelling of the truth?"

Entreri sighed. "Give the brooch back, Dwahvel. These are our hosts."

"Fine."

They returned to the Wallingdams, Dwahvel's smile so sincere Entreri could hardly imagine that she'd just been fighting with him. Only a few moments later, Entreri noticed that the old lady's brooch was right back on her collar just as if it had never gone missing. Dwahvel shot him a sharp look, but it was gone so quickly he could have imagined it.

The rest of the visit was boring, but productive as Entreri lined up yet another consultation for the merchant as well as promise of more work through several of his contacts.

"It's hard to find someone you can trust these days," Wallingdam said with a sigh as they walked to the front door. "Too many who claim to be protecting you are simply setting you up for ambush."

"Then why trust me, Mr. Wallingdam?" Entreri found himself asking.

The old merchant stopped at the door and turned to him. "When you first looked at my operation, you pointed out several areas of weakness I already knew about and added several more. I could tell you were thinking like a professional—a professional thief. But who knows how to stop a thief better than one who knows the art well?"

Entreri just looked at him.

Then the old man continued, "But your advice was so thorough and your directions were so specific, I knew that whatever you had done in the past, you were not setting me up for ambush."

Then he bowed to Dwahvel. "And no man with a wife as lovely and as genial as Mistress Entreri could be hiding dark intentions," he added graciously.

Entreri could barely hold back his snort of disbelief.

"Yes, indeed, it was delightful to meet you, Mistress Entreri," the merchant's wife added. Then she reached up and took the brooch from her collar. "You admired this so ardently. I want you to have it." She pressed the brooch into Dwahvel's hands with a sweet grin. Entreri could not help but fully enjoy his "wife's" discomfiture. She at least had the grace to look embarrassed as she accepted the gift.

"Our thanks for a very pleasant evening, Mr. Wallingdam, Mistress Wallingdam," Entreri stated with a little bow, then led his dumbstruck lady onto the street.

They walked together in silence for several blocks until they were nearly back at the warehouse. "What is all this, Artemis?" Dwahvel asked at last. "What are you doing here?" She looked up at him with a look of unease on her face.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean, what are you doing? Is this a front for some elaborate scheme or are you sincerely going straight?"

"What does it matter?" he asked, a little uncomfortable by her questions. He'd never considered his motives in that light.

"You aren't, are you? You aren't planning anything. This is for real, isn't it?" She sounded as if she'd received some kind of revelation.

He couldn't answer. All he knew was that he was being judged by what he could do for people, not to them. His clients came to him out of respect for him rather than fear of his masters.

She didn't say any more, but went upstairs with him thoughtfully. They got ready for bed, but instead of holding her as had become his custom, he rolled away from her instead. So she curled up against him, slipping her arm across his chest.

After a while, he rolled onto his back and she lay her head on his shoulder. Then she looked up at him. "Artemis, whatever you want to do here, it's fine by me. I'll help you however I can," she whispered. "I trust you."

Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Entreri lay there in the dark, questions circling in his mind like carrion birds. He had no answers for her because he had no answers for himself.

But he did have her.

And with another sigh, he pulled her to him and went to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Deep in the night he was awakened by a dream. Pasha Basadoni—not the dying old man of his most recent memories—but the powerful man he'd first known, the man who'd taught him how to thrive in Calimport's underworld—in his dream, Pasha Basadoni berated him for his weakness.

"How can you serve them?" Basadoni sneered at him. "How can you bow and scrape and be the thing you despise? You are Artemis Entreri. You have ended the lives of a thousand more worthy than these wretched peasants. You have degraded yourself. You have lost yourself. You were the wolf. Now you have joined the sheep!"

He woke with a start, causing Dwahvel to stir against him. His heart pounded as he lay there, Basadoni's words echoing in his ears.

Then to his surprise he heard another voice, this one from the chest at the foot of the bed.

_Are you worthy to bear me? _the voice asked. _Are you afraid to take me up again? _

In the chest at the foot of the bed, Charon's Claw and the jeweled dagger lay hidden from his view, but not from his mind.

Was he afraid? He'd not carried either blade in weeks. They were too recognizable and too dangerous. The last thing he needed was for one of his students to come into contact with Charon's Claw and be turned into a smoldering heap of ash on the warehouse floor.

But was he afraid?

Carefully he extricated himself from Dwahvel's sleeping embrace and went to the trunk. With a scowl he opened the lid and peered into the depths. In the dim light of the moon filtering in through the windows, the blade of Charon's Claw looked gray and the jewels of the dagger were dark.

He pulled on his clothes and snatched up the weapons, a frisson of unease teasing his fingers as they took the scabbard of the red sword. Without pausing to reconsider, he strode downstairs to the warehouse.

He cast the blades to the floor and knelt before them. Who was he? Was the Artemis Entreri who'd mastered Charon's Claw still the same man who now prepared to take it up again?

He'd told Jarlaxle that Artemis Entreri was dead. Was he?

He still felt driven to face the world by the name Artemis Entreri. To do less was to hide, to pretend, and he had never been one for pretense.

On Captain Jarrol's ship he'd tried to sidestep his identity, but his short-lived time as Cadderly Bonaduce had eaten at him until he'd ended it. Upon landing, every minute he'd spent in Waterdeep had been as Artemis Entreri—without apology, without hesitation.

But was he the same Artemis Entreri he'd been in Calimport? In Damara? In Memnon?

No. He was not the same.

Then what part of him was still Artemis Entreri? What part of him still hung onto the identity? What part remained as the consistent thread that tied his past to his future?

Dwahvel had said that he was not a collection of events. He was the consciousness that rose above it all, made sense of it.

And he knew who he was.

He was the ability to choose his path.

Basadoni was wrong. He was done with bowing and scraping. Nothing could drive him that he did not allow—not pain, not fear, not envy, not love. He chose his path.

He knelt on the rough wooden boards of the warehouse floor and considered the blades before him. He picked up the dagger, silenced its voice in a heartbeat, and laid it aside again.

Then he considered Charon's Claw and he knew it would fight him. From the start, he'd never desired the blade for the blade's sake, but rather for the gauntlet as a shield between him and the formidable powers of Jarlaxle's lieutenants, Rai-guy and Kimmuriel. He'd mastered the blade without the gauntlet more out of hubris than desire. He would not carry a sword that did not serve him utterly.

He still had no desire for the sword for the sword's sake. Now he had even less desire to carry it for purely practical reasons. And he did not desire its mastery to prove himself to it, to prove his worth.

However, as he knelt there before it, considering its red blade, its white bone hilt, its ultimately evil nature, he knew that he would master it again. To do less was to fail to choose, to let the blade choose his path for him.

Artemis Entreri was the power to choose and he chose this. Without hesitation, he took the sword in his hand.

Once Charon's Claw had hated him, then it had bowed to him. Then with the infusion of shadow into his body, it had loved him. But the sword had felt his rejection keenly and like a jilted lover, all had turned again to hate.

Entreri could feel the heat emanating from the hilt, could feel the terrible power of destruction the sword brought down on him, even more powerfully than before. He could feel the sword's fury, its resentment, and he knew that unless he proved the stronger, the sword would incinerate him as it had done all others so foolish as to touch it barehandedly.

But Artemis Entreri was no fool. The blade's fury did not catch him by surprise, did not overpower him. His will, his choice, met the blade's hatred with determination.

Flames danced along his nerves as the sword fought him. His muscles clenched in spasms of white hot agony as his body temperature began to rise.

Entreri became a force of pure will. He pushed back the sword's power with the deep force of his own intentions—not that they were good, nor that they were ill, but that they were his.

The fight went out of the sword and his body began to cool. The blade began to show him encouraging images of conquest, of murder, of death. It was ready to serve him again.

Then he addressed the sword directly, his voice like ice, "If I choose to conquer this city and bring it down in fire and bloodshed, I will do it. If it pleases me to live here in peace and prosperity, I will do it. You will be grateful to be at my side when and if I choose to put you there even if I keep you locked away for a hundred years. The choice is mine, and you will not presume to question it."

The images faded and the sword backed down into silence. Entreri picked up the dagger as well, rose from the floor, and turned to go up the stairs, surprised to see Dwahvel standing there. Her face was pale, and she was trembling.

She'd missed him in bed and had gone downstairs to find him kneeling on the floor with the terrible red blade of Charon's Claw in his hand, his body convulsing with power. Terrified, she watched wisps of smoke rising from his skin as a red wash of flame engulfed him.

Then all signs of malevolence from the sword had vanished and her fear for him eased. But as she heard the words he spoke to the sword, her fear for him had turned into fear for herself.

His words pierced her heart as sharply as if he were speaking them to her. As she heard the steel in his voice, she knew that she too had questioned him. She knew she'd presumed too much about his intentions in Waterdeep, that she'd presumed too much about her own role in his plans.

She'd forgotten for a moment that the man she slept with, the man who made love to her with such ardent care, was Artemis Entreri. But she remembered that fact now and was afraid. She lived because he chose not to kill her. She was by his side because it pleased him to have her there.

Just because the leopard's claws were velveted did not mean it could not break her neck with a single blow. Just because the sword was sheathed did not mean the blade was any less sharp.

He approached her and she could see concern in his eyes. Concern for her. He placed the sword and dagger lightly on a side table and walked up the stairs until he stood before her. "What's wrong?" he asked, completely unaware of the fear that coursed inside her veins.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry about the brooch. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"No," he replied, touching her face tenderly with his fingers. "You've nothing to be sorry for."

"I love you, Artemis," she heard herself say and she knew it was true. She knew from the way it felt so final in her mind, from the weight of it in her heart. "I love you, and I will stay with you for as long as you'll let me."

He reached out for her then and she eased into his arms, still trembling. His skin was still hot to the touch, as if he'd been out in the Calishite sun.

But she was cold, so cold that he wrapped her in his arms and carried her upstairs and put her back to bed. They sky was still dark outside, stars sparkling through the high windows where her curtains remained unhung.

"I'll finish hanging those curtains for you," he offered as he pulled off his boots and lay down beside her.

"Thank you. That would be nice," she whispered, shivering against the air.

Then he tucked the down coverlet tightly against her back and lay close to her, his arm around her waist. At last her trembling ceased.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked.

"Yes."

They lay there a long while until the growing daylight began to glow through the window.

"What are you going to do today?" he asked her.

"I don't really know. What do you want me to do?"

"Whatever you like. I've got a meeting with one of Wallingdam's fellow guildsmen this morning, then lessons with Cullon and Ballantin this afternoon."

"Then I will do my shopping this morning in case you need me during lessons."

"Be sure to have a healing potion on hand in case one of them gets in a lucky thrust," he teased.

"They are far more likely to have need of one," she replied, then felt comfortable enough with him to add, "You do have a tendency to slice them up."

"Should I go easier on them?" he asked sincerely.

"No," she responded firmly. "Swordsmanship is a dangerous art. The sooner they learn that, the better. They'd do well to leave it alone entirely."

"All the same, I don't want my students to run away in fear." Then he laughed and added, "Lost revenue means a longer wait for more pretty things for the bedroom."

"I don't care about the bedroom. I just care about you."

Her voice was soft and sincere as she said the words and he thought about what she'd said to him on the stairway. He hadn't heard those words since he was a boy. He hadn't said them either. To his dismay, he couldn't say them now.

He knew how he felt about her. The intensity had faded along with the effects of Idalia's Flute. He no longer felt as though his heart were being ripped open when he looked at her. But he still knew that he needed her, despite her occasional snappishness, despite her impractical desires for pretty things and soft beds.

He knew that she was good for him. She made him human in ways he was surprised to discover. She cared for him in practical ways no one had ever done before.

She actually cooked.

In a kitchen.

In all his adult life, he'd never had someone cook for him that way. On the road, he and any traveling companions would take turns over the campfire, but no one had ever chosen to go to the kitchen to make a meal for him when there was a restaurant within an hour's walk.

He asked her how she'd ever learned to cook, and she had given him a look of disbelief. "I've done my time taking care of myself," she'd declared. "My old granny in Luiren would roll over in her grave if I didn't know how to make a pot of soup and a loaf of quickbread."

What's more, she did laundry. She kept house. The mysteries of her knowledge and abilities were boundless.

And she made small talk at gatherings with clients. She remembered people's names for him, especially those he considered inconsequential. She knew to ask Cullon about his mother or sister or whoever it was that was sickly. She made certain the water jugs were full before lessons began so that his young, exhausted students wouldn't overheat.

She created a home with clean sheets, soft bedding, pretty things, and hot food—the things he'd scorned all his life for fear they would make him weak. And in giving him these things, she'd shown him strength.

Weakness did not lie in comfort. It lay in choosing comfort over action.

Weakness did not lie in pleasure. It lay in choosing pleasure over self-control.

And weakness did not lie in love. It lay in choosing to misplace one's love.

His love was not misplaced. He loved her.

And giving her a kiss on the forehead, he said the words.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Danica Bonaduce waited patiently outside the temple of Lathander in Waterdeep for her husband to finish his meeting with the Morninglord. She'd spent the morning shopping to her hearts' content, glad the children were well-occupied at Spirit Soaring with the Bouldershoulder brothers. It was unusual for her and Cadderly to have this kind of time away and she was more than prepared to enjoy it.

Enjoying it took a bit of willingness for solitude on her part, however, as her husband was heavily involved in the translation of a text found by a group of adventurers in the deserts of Anauroch, a text that he believed the Morninglord of Lathander would find most interesting.

Beyond that Cadderly would not say much more, but his early meetings with the Morninglord left him both excited and drained. Cadderly could work day and night, but the Morninglord preferred the hours just at sunrise when his communion with his god was strongest.

So Danica waited for him and looked forward to the afternoons when he was hers again. To occupy herself that morning, she'd spent some time in the South Ward, looking for bargains. Several of the shops had received new merchandise during the week due to increased caravan traffic, including some truly beautiful things from around Faerun.

On her way back through Castle Ward, she had also stopped at an unusual amphitheater where a priest of Lathander sat in apparent contemplation, his rosy pink and purple robes shining in the mid-day sun. She had to admit, the setting was lovely and very peaceful. Perhaps she would return some morning to do her own meditation and training.

After a few more minutes, the silverhaired man rose and left, giving her a polite smile and nod. She smiled in return, then continued up the street to meet Cadderly. It had been a very long walk, but one she relished. With three children and an entire cathedral to run, it was difficult at times to find opportunity to push herself physically to this extent.

She knew that when she brought Cadderly back with her to see the amphitheater, they would have to take a carriage. He'd never be able to walk that far, she thought with a smile.

Before the temple, she watched as worshipers entered and exited. Many were young—far younger than the seekers who came to Spirit Soaring for research. Most who sought knowledge were older. She wondered what these devotees to Lathander sought when they came. Newness of purpose? A baby perhaps?

The courtyard area before the temple appeared to be an artists' gathering as well. Painters, sculptors, and sketch artists were scattered over the grounds, working at every bench and table. Easels stood everywhere. One young man called her over and asked if he could do her portrait.

To the young artist's dismay, she politely declined for the day since Cadderly would be out soon. "Perhaps another day then, lady," he added hopefully.

"Perhaps," she replied.

One side of the large double doors of the temple swung open to reveal her husband, the Chosen of Deneir. He walked down the steps, clearly happy with the morning's work, his blue robes catching the light of the sun. His wide-brimmed blue hat dangled in his hand as he came toward her with a smile.

Cadderly bent down to plant a warm kiss on her lips, prompting another sigh of dismay from the young artist. She hated to tell the young man that he'd never had a chance. Her heart was irrevocably given to the tall, broadshouldered, curly-haired man beside her.

"What's for lunch?" the love of her life asked.

They took their mid day meal in a small restaurant just up the street from the amphitheater. "After we eat, I want to show you this beautiful little park I've found," she said. "Then you have to come see the jewelry in the South Ward."

Cadderly agreed, glad to have time to relax, even if it meant going on one of Danica's long walks. For a woman as tiny as she was, barely coming to his shoulder, she was a veritable powerhouse of energy—and as a highly trained monk, a deadly combatant as well.

His martial skills were, he had to admit, minimal, leaving him to depend on his clerical gifts for self-protection. Danica, on the other hand, was more than able to take care of herself. The children looked fortunately to be taking more after their mother in that regard.

They viewed the little park, which Cadderly recognized as a shrine to Lathander. "See the way the benches are curved outwards rather than in? It's positioned to frame the rising sun," he explained.

"I think it would be a lovely place to meditate and train for a while in the morning," Danica replied.

"Certainly it would, especially for a devotee of Lathander. It would be a place of peculiar power and emphasis," he added thoughtfully. Then he looked at her and stated, "I think I should join you here tomorrow. The Morninglord has obligations that will prevent us from meeting. Perhaps some time in the rising sun will help spur my understanding of the tome we are translating."

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly as they strolled from shop to shop. In one large store, they found themselves gazing over some truly spectacular pieces of jewelry. "These came direct from Calimshan only days ago," said a little lady who came out of a back office to assist them. She waved aside the young clerk who'd been assisting them.

"We'd not been able to import them until now for fear that they would go missing on the way. Is there anything you would like to see?" she asked kindly.

Danica pointed at a brooch of very unusual shape and composition. "Ah, yes, Mrs. Entreri's favorite," the little lady sighed. "I gave her one very like this when she and her husband came for dinner."

As Danica turned the piece over in her fingers, admiring it, the lady added, "It is he that has made our routes so much safer. My husband cannot stop singing the praises of Artemis Entreri."

Danica nearly dropped the brooch as she and Cadderly both looked at the lady. Surely there was more than one Artemis Entreri in the world. It could not be the same man who'd thrown them into the path of a dangerous red dragon in order to destroy a sinister crystal artifact.

"Where is this Artemis Entreri from?" Cadderly asked.

"Lately of Calimport," the lady replied, taking the brooch back from Danica and placing it into the display case again with a deft resetting of the traps that protected it. "And before then, Damara—where he was honored with Apprentice Knight of the Order."

"Is he dark haired, dark eyed, a good bit shorter than me?" Cadderly asked curiously.

"Yes, do you know him?" the lady asked.

"I believe we may have met."

"He and his wife will be coming to dinner with us tonight. If you tell me your name and where you are staying, I'm certain he would wish to renew the acquaintance," she added helpfully.

"No, if he is in the area, I am sure we will run into him before long," Cadderly replied evenly.

"He has a school of swordsmanship just a few streets over from here," she offered. "You'll know it by the sign over the door—a crossed sword and dagger."

"A red sword?" Danica asked, her teeth clenched despite herself.

"No, miss. Just a sword," the lady replied. "At least I believe so. My husband never said the sword was red."

"Thank you very much, Mistress--" Once the lady supplied her name, Cadderly continued, "Thank you, Mistress Wallingdam. I'm certain we will run into Mr. Entreri soon."

"And his lovely wife," Mistress Wallingdam added congenially. "If you've not met her yet, you are in for a treat. She's such a delightful thing—even tinier than you, miss."

Cadderly and Danica walked out of the shop, deeply disturbed by the news that Artemis Entreri was running loose in Waterdeep. "Who knows what his intentions are toward these people?" Danica shivered. "They'll all end up murdered in their beds."

"I have no idea," Cadderly replied. "But they certainly don't see him as a threat."

"That just means we have to see the threat for them. You know what he's like. You remember what you saw in him and that flamboyant drow elf he traveled with," Danica reminded him forcefully.

Cadderly did indeed recall the images that had marked the two men, images of darkness and greed. Entreri's had been downright threatening and full of hatred on a deep level. He could see the kind of things Artemis Entreri had done, could see them written on his soul. However, Entreri had saved Danica's life and had fought singlemindedly to destroy Crenshinibon at the risk of his own.

Danica, on the other hand, had no such thoughts. Artemis Entreri was a coldblooded killer and a dangerous man, who'd terrorized her friend Catti-brie, threatened Drizzt's life on numerous occasions, and basically ran contrary to all she treasured as right and good.

She'd been sorry to see him leave the Snowflake Mountains, having thought the world would be a better place with him dead and buried underneath them instead. His companion Jarlaxle had been harder to judge, being possessed of an inordinate amount of charm, but in the end she'd been relieved when the two of them headed away, somewhere toward Damara.

"Apprentice Knight of the Order of Damara?" she asked aloud.

"It shouldn't be hard to uncover any information about him from Damara," Cadderly replied. "Grandmaster Kane will have heard of him in all likelihood. I'll do my best to get word to him tomorrow."

"You might need to make it today," Danica suggested. "If Entreri has some plan in the works, we need to stop it before someone gets hurt."

Cadderly nodded. The risk was too great not to get involved.

Meanwhile, Dwahvel walked down the street toward a couple who looked nearly as odd together as she and Artemis. The very handsome man dressed in blue was a full foot taller than the strawberry blond lady at his side. Though the lady herself towered a foot over Dwahvel, she still looked tiny beside the broadshouldered man.

As she passed by them, she gave the lady a kindly smile, which was very generously returned. Then Dwahvel walked into Mistress Wallingdam's shop to drop off some papers from Artemis.

"Did you see the couple just leaving?" Mistress Wallingdam asked as she entered the store. "They are friends of your husband's, I believe."

"Yes, I did see them," Dwahvel answered, passing over her packet to the old lady. "Let me see if I can catch them."

But Dwahvel had no intention of catching them. Artemis didn't have friends—unless she counted herself. What he had were acquaintances, many of whom would be happier to murder him than to see him.

Using her highly skilled ability to evade notice, she followed the couple until they reached the edge of South Ward. Presumably, they were not actively seeking Artemis or they have would have remained in the neighborhood, so she let them go.

That afternoon when he'd returned from working with a new group of guard recruits for the jewelers' guild, she asked him if he knew a tall priest in blue and a short woman with reddish blond hair.

"The only couple I know that might meet that description is Cadderly Bonaduce and his wife Danica," he replied suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"Because they were in Wallingdam's shop asking about you," Dwahvel replied.

Entreri cursed beneath his breath. What could that meddlesome priest want with him? What had he done lately to bring himself to his notice? Then he smiled a little. Perhaps he had indeed been aware that Entreri was using his name and had come to investigate. If so, Entreri wished he'd used it a bit longer and while doing something incredibly criminal.

However, he'd done nothing criminal at all as Cadderly Bonaduce, unless one counted killing pirates, and to Entreri that should have counted as a service to mankind. The good Cadderly, on the other hand, probably believed in mercy to pirates, perhaps even to those standing outside his wife's door.

During dinner with the Wallingdams Entreri asked politely if Mistress Wallingdam had caught the names of his friends, but to no avail. "I believe from your description that they could be a goodly priest and his wife from the Snowflake Mountains. If they come again asking about me, do tell Cadderly and Danica to feel free to drop by the studio in person. I would welcome another encounter with them," he offered kindly.

Dwahvel was less than eager to meet the couple. After dinner, Artemis had filled her in on his adventures with them in the cave of Hephaestus, including details about Cadderly's incredible clerical powers and Danica's inhuman monkish abilities.

"She doesn't look like much," Artemis added nonchalantly, "but she packs a terrible punch. And she absolutely despises me."

Learning how violently Danica hated her Artemis did not make Dwahvel feel any easier about the possibility of encountering the woman again. She'd seemed so nice on the street. It would be a shame to be forced to stick a dagger in her belly.

Artemis could apparently see the murder in her eyes. "Do not even think of challenging her, Dwahvel," he warned sternly. "In fact leave your dagger at home. She's a goodly person and wouldn't dream of attacking you without cause, but given cause she would disarm you in a heartbeat. Do not give her cause, do you hear me?" he warned sternly.

As much as it hurt her pride to admit it, Dwahvel knew she was no fighter. But that did not change the fact that this woman and her husband would upset their lives only at their peril.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

By late evening, Cadderly's worst fears had been realized as he learned from Grandmaster Kane that Artemis Entreri had indeed been in Damara and was knighted there. However, he'd been banished only a short while later for treason to King Gareth Dragonsbane—banished despite the fact that most of King Gareth's advisors had called for the death penalty.

"So how do you want to do this?" Danica asked. "Should we go after him ourselves or turn him in to the City Watch?"

"The City Watch will not be prepared for Artemis Entreri," Cadderly said with a sigh. "There would be unnecessary loss of life if they confront him, even if they manage to take him in."

Then Cadderly looked at Danica with a solemn expression. "And what would they arrest him for? He might be under a death sentence if he should return to Damara, but he is not in Damara. And what has he done in Waterdeep that would warrant his arrest?"

"You know what the man is like, Cadderly," Danica began in moral outrage. "If he has not committed some horrible crime here already, it is certain that he will if left to his own devices."

Cadderly sighed. She was right. There was too much uncertainty at stake to do nothing. But he simply could not condemn a man because he might be up to no good even if the chances were almost guaranteed that he wasn't.

In the end, they settled for confronting him themselves the next morning. They rose early and took a carriage down to the Lathander shrine before the sun was up. Then each spent time in meditation and preparation—Danica centering her energies and preparing her body for combat, Cadderly reviewing the Tome of Universal Harmony, bringing its song to the forefront of his heart.

The silver haired priest was also there, waiting on the front row for the sun to rise.

Neither of the Bonaduces expected to see Artemis Entreri himself appear in the shadows beside them.

And Entreri did not expect to see Dwahvel step out on the far side of the amphitheater. He gave her a sharp look, but she simply smiled at him. There was no way she was letting Artemis face down two such powerful opponents without her.

When he'd slipped out of bed in the dead of night to track down the Bonaduces, it had been difficult, but not impossible to follow him, especially since she'd already done a bit of after dinner recognizance of her own while he was working with an evening student. By the time he'd come to bed, she'd already found out where they were staying, how long they had been there, what messages had come for them, and what they'd had for supper. She was not guildmistress of a information network for nothing.

So it was with trepidation that the two couples closed in on each other. But before anything could happen of a confrontational nature, Brother Ansel, the silverhaired priest, called out to them, "The start of a new day has come. Rejoice in it!"

And with the first fingers of dawn over the horizon, the entire amphitheater seemed to be filled with rosy light and they were all transfixed. Even Cadderly was not immune to the power that flowed in and around him as the priest brought forth a song to the morning, a song that rivaled the song of Deneir in beauty and in intensity.

In fact, if he were forced to admit, the song of the morning was even more beautiful in a way because of its unstructured nature, its unpredictability. Deneir's song was order and harmony; this song was creativity and life.

By the time the song was over, all four players stood silent. Tears streamed down the girls' faces and even Entreri appeared moved.

Then Brother Ansel turned to him. "Good morning, Artemis. It is nice to see you again." With a smile, he also took Dwahvel into his attention. "And your lovely wife is doing so well, aren't you, my dear? Your husband was very worried about you."

Then he turned to Cadderly and Danica. "The song of the morning has something for everyone, even a monk trained under Grandmaster Penpahg D'ahn and the Chosen of Denier," he stated with a smile. "Perhaps before you all leap at each other, you should sit in the morning sun for a bit and consider the newness of the day."

Then the old priest bowed to them all and walked away. No one seemed able to follow or truthfully to even move in the glow of the rising sun.

Entreri shook himself first and moved to stand protectively beside Dwahvel. "Go home," he told her firmly. "This is not your fight."

"I don't know that it is a fight at all," Cadderly's deep voice interjected.

"Perhaps Entreri should tell us if there is reason to fight him," Danica added.

"Artemis owes you no explanations," Dwahvel snapped defensively. "His business is his own, Lady Bonaduce."

"And his business is murder, Mistress Entreri," Danica replied hotly. "Or were you unaware of that portion of your husband's life?"

"There is no portion of my husband's life that I am unaware of," Dwahvel retorted, moving to stand toe to toe with the much taller woman. "And I suggest you mind your own business rather than involving yourself in ours."

Before things could get even more out of hand with his hotheaded companion, Entreri gently but firmly pulled Dwahvel away from the enraged monk. He did not think Danica would throw the first punch, but he knew how infuriating Dwahvel could be when her blood was up.

Cadderly meanwhile had also stepped in to place a restraining hand on Danica's shoulder. She shrugged it off angrily, but backed away a step.

"Mistress Entreri," Cadderly began calmly, "we mean no disrespect to you or your husband." Danica snorted, ruining the effect somewhat. "But you must understand that our previous association was less than amicable at times."

"I'll say," Danica added under her breath.

"That's your problem," Dwahvel retorted. "Right now you have no reason to seek out my husband nor to make plans to ruin everything he's built here just because you are afraid of what he might do."

"You are correct," Cadderly replied. "For that reason, I am glad this little meeting has come together."

"For what purpose?" Entreri interjected at last, his voice cold. "Do you presume to sit in judgment on me? Must I defend myself and my actions to you or face the consequences? Who made you my judge? Is Deneir my god?"

"You have no god," Danica returned scathingly. "No god but your own perverse desires."

Entreri had to move fast to catch Dwahvel. "How dare you!" she snarled at the monk. "How dare you make such an accusation of a man you cannot possibly know!"

"It is you who do not know him if you know nothing of the cruelties he inflicted on my friend, if you know nothing of the relentless way he pursued her companion, if you know nothing of the innumerable victims that lie in Artemis Entreri's wake," Danica returned angrily.

Cadderly placed a heavy arm over Danica's shoulders and forced her to sit. Entreri likewise pulled Dwahvel down beside him, placing an empty bench between the angry ladies.

While the two women glared at each other, Cadderly took the opportunity to study the shadows that stood on the shoulders of the two people across from him.

Mistress Entreri's soul was not without self-interest, not without its own litany of wrongs, but overarching it all was a passionate defense of the one she loved and a new understanding of what it meant to love. She was not a perfect person by any means, but her intentions toward her beloved were nothing but good and were ill only toward those who threatened the one she loved.

Of Entreri, he could only say that he was surprised. The brooding hatred and malevolence that had come through before had tempered to cynicism and distrust. He also could see that the distrust was not directed at him personally, but rather at his office. He wondered at the hurts that lay visible in him as well, hurts only recently remembered.

His deeds had been marked by great cruelty and callousness toward others, but his most recent dealings had been peaceful and marked by mutual respect. He was no saint, his motives were still more about himself than the good of others, but there was no sign that he planned any sort of conquest of Waterdeep or mass murder of its citizens.

But most telling of all was the unexpected deep softness and protectiveness he felt toward the little halfling woman beside him. It seemed to Cadderly that Entreri's primary motives at the moment were to protect the woman he called his wife, to shield her from any danger, to provide for her needs, and to love her. He'd not thought to see that in the man.

He knew that if he looked at his own shoulder, he'd see the same feelings toward Danica. And when he glanced at Danica, he could see the same protectiveness and passionate defense that Entreri's lady felt for him. They were all very much alike at the moment.

"Mr. Entreri," Cadderly said, rising from his seat, "it has been very nice to see you again, and, Mistress Entreri, it has been a pleasure meeting you as well. I sincerely hope you both enjoy living in Waterdeep." Then he turned to Danica. "Come along, my dear. I believe it is time for breakfast."

Danica just looked at him in disbelief, but the look on his face brooked no argument from her. She strode off without another word.

Then Cadderly gave them a little bow and turned to follow his wife.

Entreri looked at Dwahvel who still seethed in fury. "Breakfast does sound like a good idea," he suggested. She simply stood and strode off toward home.

Back in their rooms at the inn near the temple, Danica finally calmed down enough to blast Cadderly with every reason she could think of to go right back and take out that evil assassin and his harpy halfling wife. Though he tried to tell her what he'd seen in them, how the man had changed, she was not content.

"People can change, Danica," he stated again for the third time.

"But changed or not, Artemis Entreri has never paid for what he's done," she retorted. "How is it right to let him continue to wander the world, completely free of the consequences of his actions? How is it right that the kind of evil you know he has committed goes unpunished?"

"I cannot say about the consequences of his actions in this life," Cadderly repeated. "All I know is that I am not his judge, nor his jury, nor his executioner. I don't know what judge he will face and whether it will be in this life or will be in the hands of the gods, but I do know it is not my place to do it."

Then he took her hands in his and added, "And it is not yours. Your only responsibility is to let him go. Not for his sake, but for your own peace of mind. Let your anger toward him go, Danica. You heard the song this morning. Give yourself a new start where Artemis Entreri is concerned. Let him go."

In their rooms in the South Ward, Entreri was saying much the same to Dwahvel. "I don't care what that priest thinks of me, Dwahvel. I certainly don't care what his wife thinks. They do not know me. They do not know what I've done or who I am."

He added silently to himself that if they knew the whole truth, they would not have hesitated to kill him on the spot, and in looking back over his life, he could see that their action might be justified.

"All I care about is you," he assured her. "As long as I have your good opinion, that's all that matters to me. So don't waste another minute in anger toward people who do not matter. I know I will not."

Then he sat down on the little sofa he'd bought for her and pulled her into his arms. The curls of her hair bounced against his shoulder as she began to cry.

"No, don't cry," he said, his voice soothing and calm. "Don't waste a tear on me. I am not worth them."

"Yes," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, you are Artemis. You are worth every tear I could cry and every drop of blood in my body. I love you with all my heart and I will claw the eyes out of anyone who dares to speak ill of you."

"Even when I deserve it?" he teased to cover the odd leap of his heart.

"Especially when you deserve it," she declared, placing her hands on each side of his face. "No one has any right to speak ill of you—not even me." Then she kissed him with a pledge and a passion he could not ignore, and he knew that she'd marked him. She'd marked him for her own at a level he'd not realized was possible.

He knew that she'd live with him or she'd die defending him, but she would not leave him.

How had he come to this place? How had he risen above the pettiness and the cruelty enough to feel the fresh air against his skin? How had he left behind the fear and resentment enough to love someone as completely as he loved her? How had he atoned for the terrible injustices he'd committed enough to be granted her love in return?

He did not deserve her. He could never deserve her. He could not do enough in ten lifetimes to earn her acceptance or her good opinion, to earn the wholehearted graciousness she extended to him.

Everything he'd ever wanted in life, he'd had to take by force. But the one thing he needed most was now being freely given to him and he was not worthy of it. He closed his eyes and held her tightly against him.

No matter what happened, he could not let that go. He could not be separated from her love.

Nothing could part them now.

_(AN: End of Dawn. Part three on its way next—Disaster. I mean, how long can Jarlaxle stay away?)_


End file.
